summer poem

Summer Poem

A balsam raft, with a mast and a Latin sail, I built
for amusement on summer days on the inner sea,
but I found myself too far from shore, daydreaming
is dangerous, I had forgotten the dark undercurrent.
The shore is hazy, tomorrow it will have gone it’s
just me and the blue outer-sea where fog banks are
forgotten memories. I and the raft will end up on
a blue painted plaster sea, in an empty bottle of rum
that sits on a mantle piece collecting dust particles.

Till someone lifts it up blow cigar smoke down its
open neck, I’ll be invisible in the scented fog bank.
When the mist clears I shall be gone, the smoker,
astonished, will ask: “What happened to the raft?
and the man in the bottle. Fearful throw his cigar
into the hearth, sell his scrap metal business, buy
a dingy, leave his wife, set sail for the outer sea,
where the fly-fish fly like ospreys across the sky.
He just might find; whatever it is, he’s looking for.